‘Servants don’t sit with the family.
Eat in the kitchen after we’re done.
Standing up.
It’s good for the baby.’
I looked at Thomas, waiting for outrage, or even embarrassment, or any sign at all that he understood what had just happened.
He took a sip of wine.
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‘Just do what my mother says,’ he replied.
‘Stop making a scene.’
A cramp hit so hard I grabbed the back of the chair to stay upright.
My vision blurred for a second.
Jonathan glanced at me, then at Thomas, his expression shifting from polite detachment to something far more uncomfortable.
Margaret noticed the serving spoon shaking in my hand.
‘If you’re going to stand there, refill the vegetables.’
I tried.
Another cramp tore through my stomach and the spoon slipped from my fingers, splashing sauce onto the tablecloth.
Margaret recoiled like I had insulted the family crest.
